


Just for one night

by linndechir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the asoiafkinkmeme: <i>Jon knew there was fire behind that calm façade, knew that nothing else could warm him in the coldest winter nights, and he was not above begging if that was what it took.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Just for one night

"You may leave, Lord Snow," Stannis said finally, after hours and hours of arguing had at last led to some sort of agreement. The king was still staring at the papers in front of him as if he wasn't happy, about Jon, about the garrison and the men and their supplies, about anything. Jon licked his lips, a bit nervously, didn't move, waited for Stannis to change his mind like he had the night before.

Blue eyes looked up and met Jon's, hard and cold.

"I said you may leave," Stannis repeated impatiently.

"Don't ask that of me," Jon said softly and stepped closer, around the desk between them. He saw the king tense up even more. Uncertainty entered those blue eyes, but no anger, not yet. Jon didn't want to give Stannis the time to object, to remind him that they had both agreed not to speak of this again.

"Please." The word he never used during their arguments and negotiations, not once. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch did not plead with any king, but this was not a matter that concerned the Watch. This only concerned Jon, and Jon's pride had no place here. "Please, don't ask me to leave just yet."

Jon raised his hand to Stannis's shoulder, but while the king did not meet his eyes anymore, he did not move away. Just stood there, motionless, as if he wanted to ignore Jon's pleas. Jon's hand moved up until his fingers brushed the king's neck, then his cheek. He shuddered as he felt the short beard under his fingertips, as he remembered hot, desperate kisses on his skin the night before, on his face, his chest, his thighs. He knew there was fire behind that calm façade, knew that nothing else could warm him in the coldest winter nights, and he was not above begging if that was what it took.

Another step, and his chest brushed Stannis', although neither of them felt the touch through layers of armour and fabric. Jon was only a few inches smaller than Stannis, and his lips softly touched the king's chin.

"Please," he said again, his voice quiet, his lips moving against skin. "Do you want me to kneel while I beg?" he added when Stannis didn't react, half an innuendo and half a joke. Stannis finally looked at him again and scoffed, but that was better than no reaction at all.

"Hardly." Stannis' voice was a low growl. He stared at Jon for a moment, and Jon could _see_ how uncertainty suddenly changed into determination, the same single-mindedness with which Stannis pursued everything once he had set his mind to it. Strong fingers went for Jon's hair, grabbed it roughly to pull him into an almost brutal kiss, all desperatation and need, but Jon wasn't here for finesse. They were both too starved for any kind of touch to bother.

~

Jon had pleaded with the king on purpose to get what he wanted, but by the time they reached the king's bed in the adjacent room, after awkwardly stripping out of too many clothes, by the time Stannis' body pressed him down into the warm covers, he did not think about his words anymore. Stannis' hands made him whimper, rough and calloused and determined, but never violent as they manhandled Jon onto his back, as they ran over his sides and his stomach and his thighs, kneading tense muscles, caressing soft skin. Jon clung to Stannis, every touch a needy attempt to pull him closer, to keep him close, part of him was still afraid the king would stop and leave him like this.

"Please." It was only a mumble now, a whimper almost somewhere between wordless moans. "Don't stop, don't go ..."

Jon could feel Stannis' cock against his, hard and hot as Stannis took them both into his hand, his touch a bit clumsy out of impatience and need, but it was a thousand times better than being cold and alone. Stannis' face was buried against Jon's neck, the beard scratching his skin, his voice an indistinct rumble. 

"Hush, boy." Stannis' other arm encircled his body, held him close, like an embrace almost. Jon shivered, his eyes fell shut. It irked him when Stannis called him a boy during their negotiations, when Stannis called the Lord Commander a boy, but here it was a relief to be just that, just Jon, just a boy who could submit to another without worrying about the consequences. It almost undid him then and there, but his whimper must have sounded so pitiful that Stannis' hand stopped and he looked up.

"Are you ...?" Hesitation, guilt almost in those blue eyes, and Jon couldn't bear that, not now.

"No, no, go on ... just don't stop, please don't stop, please ..." He was babbling, he knew, but he couldn't care less when Stannis' hand resumed its task, firm, slow strokes, the slide of Stannis' cock against his, the feeling of that strong body thrusting against him. Jon had another "please" on his lips as he came, a "please" that turned into a drawn-out moan, his body shivering in pleasure, his mind blissfully empty. Stannis' followed only a few moments later, his groans muffled against Jon's neck.

They lay side by side for a few minutes afterwards, Stannis' arm still awkwardly underneath Jon's body. But although it was hardly comfortable Jon grumbled in protest when Stannis finally tried to pull back his arm and sit up. He reached for him, put his hand on Stannis' chest. Coarse black hair under his fingertips, and Jon realised only now that he had barely taken the time to look at Stannis before.

"Stay," Jon said. Stannis frowned a little, but there was a dark glint of humour in his eyes.

"We're in my bed," he pointed out, and Jon blushed. He felt like an idiot for forgetting, but he didn't let that stop him.

"Then don't tell me to leave." He turned onto his side to lean in closer, until his lips almost brushed Stannis' again. Jon tried for a smile, a grin almost. "Please?"

He didn't really expect it to work, not now, not after they had both had that moment of relief they so desperately needed. But to his surprise Stannis relaxed a little and sank back down on the bed. He looked uncomfortable, out of place, and Jon wondered when someone had last embraced Stannis, when someone had last held him at night. From what he had heard, he doubted that Stannis had ever shared that kind of intimacy with his wife.

Jon only sat up for a second to grab one of the thick fur blankets and pull it over them – it would get cold during the night, despite the fire – before he lay back down against Stannis' chest. The king was too gaunt, too bony, but his body was warm and, despite his awkwardness, his hands were surprisingly tender as he pulled Jon close. They curled into each other, legs entwining, arms around each other, wriggling a bit until they found a comfortable position. It was nice, Jon thought, to be himself again, just himself, enjoying another's embrace. And it was nice not to argue with the king for once, not to have to worry about anything until the morning.

He felt a soft pressure against his forehead, and it took him a moment to realise that Stannis had kissed his hair. Jon felt a broad grin spread on his face and nuzzled Stannis' chest to hide it. The warmth he felt did not only come from Stannis' body, from the fire and the blanket. It was a warmth deep inside him, in his chest, a warmth he hadn't felt since he had left Winterfell. A warmth that reminded him of home, of safety and peace and people he loved. A warmth that meant that everything was going to be fine.

It was nice to pretend, just for one night.


End file.
